


A History of Heart Shaped Chocolates

by phlossie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, College!AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlossie/pseuds/phlossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How on earth he got the number wrong? ... well, that would always be a mystery. </p><p>But then, its the only the best mysteries that go unsolved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A History of Heart Shaped Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marveyllous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marveyllous/gifts).



> A Sterek Secret Santa gift for Marveyllous, hope you liked it dearie! its a little easier to read here than it was on tumblr. <3

_11:58pm <Unknown> _

_-Come pick me up_

 

_-The App says 10 golf course dr._

 

_-There’s a turn-in on a bend._

 

_-Bring a shirt._

 

It’s the last one that really gets him interested. 

 

What could someone possibly be doing out in Tildern at 12am that left them shirtless _and_ rideless?

 

“You aren’t seriously gonna go…” Scott hasn’t got up from the couch yet so he can’t be that concerned. 

 

“Why not Scotty? Mysterious stranger sends me a text in the middle of the night? Who wouldn't answer that call.”

 

“What if they mug you.”

 

It’s a fair point, it’s happened before.

 

“I’ll taze them, like any good, law abiding, citizen.”

 

“No really Stiles.”

 

“You could come with?”

 

“I have to be up for Mariah's tute session at 8, sorry bro.”

 

Stiles waves his hand flippantly. “Eh, don’t worry, I’ll just scream like a girl and hope there’s a vigilante waiting to save me in the bushes, what could possibly go wrong?”

 

“Don’t make me call your Dad.”

 

“Okay! Okay, I’ll take my phone, theres obviously reception out there and I’ve got 911 on speed dial after the Jackson incident anyway. It’ll be fine, I can handle myself.”

 

“You better.” Stiles loves that his bro knows not to argue. 

 

* * *

 

 

At first Stiles thinks the person isn't there, sighs as he realizes it was probably one of Jackson’s douchebag mates pranking him, and is about to drive away when he sees a dark shadow that could be a human sitting against the park’s notice board. 

 

He pulls in to a parking bay and gets out.

 

“Hey, I got your texts.”

 

“What.” 

 

The guy’s voice is deep, grumbly and Stiles blood certainly does not rush south on hearing it. Not at all.

 

“Uhhh, You texted me? Something about… Uh, I have a shirt?” He reaches through the passenger side window and grabs the T-Shirt. When he turns around the guy -tall dark and handsome, he inwardly sniggers-  is standing, looking defensive, grumpy and confused. 

 

“I texted Cora.”

 

“Ehm- Well, you got me? Yay?” TDH’s eyebrows draw down. “Here’s your shirt?” He stretches out his arm, top bundled at the end, although a part of him wants to throw it into the bushes and make him ride home as he is, unfortunately it might pose a health risk to other commuters. Stiles has to think of the greater good, namely not crashing his jeep into a lamp post. 

 

The guy takes the Tee like it might have some infectious disease. 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _So let me get this straight:”_ Stiles had always been able to tell when he was in trouble as a kid... “ _You receive a text from an unknown number, in which you are asked to go to a fairly shady turn-in, by a park, to pick up some semi nude individual you have never met. Who, I might add, could have been accompanied by other individuals; after you have had violent threats explicitly made to you by undisclosed parties, and you_ _decide to ‘_ go check it out’. _”_ …because the interrogation voice and air quotes would come out in full force, even over the phone… Even as a child he’d ignored it. 

 

“Yeah, pretty much. It was fine, the dude expressed his surprise at being picked up by a random stranger, I gave him a shirt, he glared at it like it was toxic waste, refused to put it on, and I gave him a ride home. I don't know what his problem was, it passed the sniff test when I tried!”

 

_“St-_ iles. _”_

 

* * *

 

 

“-a-and” Cora gasps for breath. “You _refused to put it on?”_

 

“Yeah, why is this such a big deal?”

 

“Oh, I don't know little bro,” Laura pats him on the head and he swats at her. “It’s not every day you so spectacularly fall form grace” She grins evilly “I mean really, getting caught out by a human is one thing, but actually directing them to you? That takes considerable effort.” 

 

Cora cackles and thwappes the side of the armchair. “Wait till Mom and Dad hear about this!” 

 

“Don’t. You. _Dare_.”

 

“Oh Der, too bad your Murder Brows don't work on me.”

 

 

_8:15am <Not Cora> _

 

_-So um, hope you got into your apartment okay?_

 

 

 

“Derek put your phone away at the dinner table.”

 

“Yes Mom.” He glares at his sister sardonically, very deliberately lifts the phone up in front of his face, and keeps typing. 

 

“Derek I swear to god I will confiscate it if I have to. You can text your boyfriend once we’ve eaten.”

 

He looks at the two words he’s managed so far, sighs, locks his phone and slides it into his pocket. “What were you telling us about your _delightful_ coworkers?”

 

* * *

 

 

_11:23pm <TDH> _

_-Thank you._

 

_no problem dude anytime! :) -_

 

-

 

“Has he texted you since-?”

 

“No.” Stiles glares morosely at the wall and flips his phone between his fingers.

 

“Not even accidentall-”

 

“No.” He sniffs.

 

“Uh… Okay, thats it. I’m ordering Pizza, we’re gonna blow up some zombies.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles’ head slides off his hand, almost hitting the laminate desk top. 

 

History of economics is _so boring_. 

 

He yawns and slips his phone out of his pocket. 

 

_< No new messages>_

 

He glances up at his professor, who is explaining a horrific looking graph, and opens a new message. 

 

  _11:33am <TDH> _

 

_I’m kinda lamenting that you didn't turn out to be an ax murderer…-_

 

_-What._

 

_If you’d murdered me I wouldn’t be slowly dying of boredom in econ today.-_

 

 

_-Pay attention to your class. Text me after._

 

 

Stiles grins stupidly at his screen.

 

_alright sourpatch-_

 

* * *

 

 

“He texted you.” Scott doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

 

Stiles looks up from his phone. “Yeah.” He breathes, smile stretching across his face.

 

“Thats great man!” Scott matches him, Watt for Watt. 

 

_7:15pm <Grumpy McGrumpypants>_

_no more classes happy now?-_

 

_-Study?_

 

_It’s a_ **Friday** _!-_

 

_-What are you doing?_

 

 

_re-watching GOT because Scott cant follow a plot line to save his life-_

 

 

_-Have you read the books?_

 

 

_of course im not a total cretin-_

 

 

_-Your lack of punctuation suggests otherwise._

 

 

_I’m sorry if my liberality offended you sir, I shall endeavor to right my erroneous ways.-_

 

 

_-How kind._

 

_-Who is Scott?_

 

 

_My roommate and bestest bro in the whole wide world-_

 

_Sorry, I forgot you dont know him.-_

 

_D’you live with anyone?-_

 

 

 

_-My sisters._

 

_-Laura and Cora._

 

 

_Oh! The cora who was supposed to pick you up?-_

 

 

_-Yeah, that Cora._

 

 

_Well I cant say im sorry…-_

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek… Der…” Cora waves her hand between his face and the screen. “Bro!”

 

“What.” He snaps, still trying to work out what Stiles meant by his last text, trying not to feel too optimistic.

 

“Nothing” She sniffs. “I just thought you’d like to know that I saw a blue jeep parked outside campus today.”

 

His head whips up. “What.”

 

“Your boyfriend was at UC this morning.” She gives him a knowing look.

 

“It might not-

 

“Oh come on Der.”

 

* * *

 

7:34 <Grumpnerd McSasspants>

 

_-Do you go to UC?_

 

 

_Yeah why?-_

 

 

_-Cora thought she saw your car the other day._

 

 

_Oh cool-_

 

_It probably was-_

 

_Roscoe is an acquired taste-_

 

_not many people could handle the awesome-_

 

 

 

 

“Hey dude, Pasta’s ready.” Scott plops the bowl down on the coffee table next to Stiles’ crossed ankles. “Feet off the table.”

 

“Thanks man” he rearranges himself to get at the food and his phone pings where he’s dropped it on the couch.

 

 

7:47 <Grumpnerd McSasspants>

 

 

_-What are you studying?_

 

 

_Criminology.-_

 

* * *

 

 

Derek blinks at the concise reply. 

 

“Were you going to eat that Der bear?” Laura snags the slice of pizza cooling on his plate.

 

“huh? Oh, umm, you have it.”

 

He misses his sisters’ significant looks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So um, I was thinking I might stay here for thanksgiving?”

 

“What!?” Scott stares at him incredulously. “You _never_ miss thanksgiving.”

 

“I dunno, I just, I have a lot to do to get ready for mid years and-

 

“Is this about Derek?”

 

“What? No! I just-

 

“Cos if you skip Thanksgiving in the _hope_ that he will be free and you’ll just happen to bond over mutual loneliness I will unfriend you Stiles, d’you here me? I will move out and you will never see me again.”

 

“I’ll come to Thanksgiving, geez.” 

 

“You better, It’s our family _tradition_.” He shakes his head. “You’ll probably text him the whole time anyway… It’s not like it’ll matter what part of the state you’re in.”

 

“You spent all of thanksgiving pining over Allison in our sophomore year…” he mutters irritably to the toaster.

 

“I was Seventeen!” Scott exclaims, heading for the bathroom. “You’re Twenty-One!”

 

“I’m not pining!” he shouts to the empty room.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re coming to Christmas Stiles.” Scott has broken out his ‘I’m so done with your shit’ tone, and Stiles realizes, once again, that he has lost this battle. “I don't care what you say. Your Dad will _kill you._ And then he’ll _kill me_ for letting you. I don’t care if Derek might get hit by a truck and have no one to sit at his bedside. You’re _coming. Okay?”_

 

“O- _kay._ Geez _.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

_5:14 <Derek ;)>_

 

_I think I’m gonna die of second hand embarrassment.-_

 

 

_-???_

 

_Dad bought Melissa heart shaped chocolates.-_

 

 

_-Melissa?_

 

_Scotts Mom.-_

 

_Who he’s been working up to dating for the past five_ **_years.-_ **

 

 

**_-_ ** _What’s wrong with heart shaped chocolates?_

 

 

_are you kidding me? theyre only the most clichéd romantic gift known to man!-_

 

_-You can put an acute accent in clichéd, but you cant put an apostrophe in they’re? Really Stiles?_

 

_Auto correct man-_

 

_I cant help that it hates me-_

 

_Oh shit-_

 

_Help-_

 

_family charades-_

 

 

_-We’re playing monopoly._

 

 

_What are the stakes?-_

 

 

_-Nicknames._

 

 

_Ooooooh-_

 

_Do tell-_

 

_-No._

 

_:’( -_

 

* * *

 

 

“Cora! What-” his sister wrenches the phone from his grasp. ‘HEY! Give that back!”

 

“He was texting Stiles.” She announces to Laura, checking the phone and completely ignoring her brother.

 

Derek jumps up to wrestle it from her, but Laura puts her hand out for it and he stills, she takes the phone, staring Derek down, daring him to argue. He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

_5:33 <Derek ;)>_

 

 

_-Hi Stiles, Laura here. Derek is taking a break from txting you so he can play his turn._

 

_-The nicknames are Lo-dog, Twinkies and Der-bear._

 

_-No points for guessing which is whos._

 

 

 

_Der-Bear!??-_

 

_like Dare Bear??-_

 

_For Derek???-_

 

_Hi by the way-_

 

 

_Laura?-_

 

 

 

_-I’m back._

 

 

_Hi there Der.-_

 

 

_-Oh god._

 

_-She didn't._

 

 

_She did.-_

 

 

_-…_

 

 

 

“Who’s Stiles texting?” John asks as his son manages to lose them their second round of charades by distractedly guessing ‘The Pink Panther’ for Goldfinger.

 

“Derek.” Scott sighs long sufferingly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His dad pulls him aside as he and Scott are leaving.

 

“So, Derek…”

 

Stiles eyes go wide. “We are not having this conversation.”

 

“He a good guy?”

 

“Dad!”

 

“What’s his last name?”

 

_“Dad!”_

 

“I’d like to meet him sometime.”

 

“ _BYE!”_

 

_2:49pm <Der Bear> _

 

_Kill me now.-_

 

_Ms Callighan has not stopped talking for 43 minutes.-_

 

_Seriously Derek.-_

 

_Unleash ur inner serial killer.-_

 

 

“Who’re you texting?” 

 

Stiles jumps about a mile in the air and turns to face the girl behind him, exclaiming “No one!” in a chronic and horribly incriminating knee-jerk reaction.

 

She gives him a look, and he has a flash back to picking up Derek at Tildern, almost four months ago now. 

 

“Really…”

 

Stiles is about to open his mouth to snap ‘why do you care?’ or ‘its none of your business’, but Ms Callighan cuts him off calling for a volunteer.

 

When he checks his phone again he has a new message.

 

_2:58pm <Der Bear_ >

 

_-Pay attention to your class Stiles._

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later the nosy chick from theories of punishment accosts him in the college parking lot.

 

“Is that your jeep?”

 

“Uhhh, yeah?”

 

A mischievous smile spreads across her face.

 

“Can I help you?” his voice squeaks a bit and he winces, her smile only widens.

 

“I’m Cora.” She offers her hand, still grinning like the cheshire cat.

 

“Hi… Do I… Know you?” 

 

If possible the grin gets yet wider. “I’m Derek’s little sister.”

 

_Ohhhhhh._ “Ohhhh” suddenly everything makes sense. “You’re the one who was meant to pick him up”

 

“Yeah, thats me.” She winks. “but between you and I, Derek’s definitely happier he got you.”

 

Stiles eyes go wide. “Uh…”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll only kill you if you hurt him.”

 

“We...?”

 

She starts walking away backwards. “You should come over some time, meet Laura, we’d love to get to know you, and Derek’s horrible at initiating things.” She turns around. “See you later Stiles!” 

 

 _5:19pm_ _< Der Bear_ >

 

_Cora is scary-_

 

 

He slumps into the drivers seat, skimming his hands over the worn rubber of the steering wheel and wondering what it means. Trying to tamp down on the flurry of anxiety and _hope_ tangling up his gut.

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you _say to him?”_ He catches his sister the moment she comes through the front door.

 

“Nice to see you too Der. What did I say to who?” She pushes past him to dump her things on the couch.

 

“What did you say to _Stiles.”_

 

“Oh _him_ , I invited him over.”

 

_“What!? When!?”_

 

She watches him, a bemused twinkle in her eye, if Derek were a wiser man he would have run long ago. “We didn't really discuss the deets… I guess you should text him and find out.”

 

“Cora...” He stares at her, dumbfounded. Despite their regular conversations, Stiles has always seemed far off, untouchable, _safe_. The idea that something simple as a text, the very medium by which the communicate, could collapse the distance between them so easily, is terrifying, and, the more he thinks about it, exhilarating. 

 

“Well big bro, I gotta get cleaned up, and I think you’re on dinner duty tonight? Chop chop.”

 

 

* * *

 

_7:08 <Derek_ >

 

- _Would you like to come over?_

 

 

“Dude, you okay?” Scott helps him get back up into his chair. 

 

Stiles clears his throat. “Mm, yeah Immok…” Scott raises an eyebrow. “He just- He just asked if id like to come over? And I don't know… I don't know if its a date, or if he’s just being nice? Cos his sister, Cora, aske- told me to come over sometime earlier today, and he might just be asking because she told him to… and I don't know Scott, he doesn't give much away, and I don't want to say yes if he’s just asking to be polite? But I don't wanna say no in case he really does want me to come over, and oh my god I’m gonna meet his _family!_ What if they don't like me? I mean, Cora seemed to like me… but we didn't really talk, what if I knock something over? Or _break_ something. Oh god, what if I insult them and they never want to speak to me again!? I’ll have to see Derek in secret, like Romeo and Juliet. We’re gonna die Scott, we’re gonna die because our families hate each other and we can never be together. Oh my _god,_ Scott, this is terrible, theres no nice way to say ‘I’d love to come over but I can’t because I might make your family hate me and then we’d have to kill ourselves to be together!’ _What am I gonna do?”_

 

Scott nods thoughtfully, after a moment he asks: “Do you like him?”

 

“I- Yes.”

 

“Do you want to go to his place?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

Scott shrugs. “Then the rest of it doesn’t really matter.”

 

 

* * *

 

_7:20 <Stiles_ >

 

_-When and where?_

 

 

 

“Whoa. Bro. That pan cost money you know.” Laura looks meaningfully at the massive, hand shaped dent he’s made in the handle, and he drops it like a hot potato, splattering tomato all over the hotplate.

 

“Shit, sorry.” He guiltily slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for the paper towel.

 

Laura goes back to reading their junk mail as Derek quietly cleans up his mess and bends the handle back into a semi usable shape.

 

When he’s done he clears his throat. “So” Laura looks up. “I may have… would it be alright if… can- um...” she raises an eyebrow. “is it okay if Stiles comes to dinner?”

 

“Tonight?” her other eyebrow joins the first.

 

“Uh, no? But sometime... Maybe, um, soon?” He tries to keep the blatant hope out of his inflection.

 

“Well... I don't see why not, how about next Saturday? Cora’s going out to the movies, and I can organize to be elsewhere. Would that suit you Der?” she smiles softly, encouraging.

 

“Yeah, yes. That would be great.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t do this.” Stiles pulls at the collar of his shirt.

 

“Yes you can.” Scott barely looks up from his diagram.

 

“What if he doesn't like me?”

 

“He likes you.” 

 

“What if I say something awful?”

 

“You probably will.”

 

“Scott!”

 

“Look.” His friend eyeballs him sternly over the cover of his biology text book. “he’s been talking to you for four and a half months-”

 

“A hundred and fourty-two days” Stiles whispers, Scott ignores him.

 

“- if you haven't said anything he hasn’t liked yet, you probably aren't going to, and besides, he’s been talking to you for four and a half months. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't _really_ like you.” He gets up and starts subtly steering Stiles towards the door as he speaks. “He’s inviting you over to his place to get to know you better.” he placates with the confidence of a man who has made this argument a million times before. “it’s a first date, not a wedding.”

 

They’re at the door, but Stiles stops, fingers on the handle. “What if I stuff it up?”

 

“You wont, If he doesn't like you for you, then he’s the one who’s stuffed up.” Scott gives him a little shove. “There’s always plan b.”

 

“Ha ha” Stiles throws him a glare. “I am not marrying Greenburg.”

 

Scott laughs. “Get outta here, you’re gonna be late.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek has just put the vegetables into the steamer when he hears Stiles on the staircase, he lowers the lid and starts towards the door, only to stop, abruptly, when his phone pings on the table, he reaches over to check it.

 

_6:27 <Stiles>_

_-I’m here._

 

He dithers, unsure what to do, and suddenly reluctant to come across as over eager by busting out onto the landing before Stiles even gets there, he waits. 

 

The next minute ticks by half time to the pounding of his heart. 

 

He hears Stiles arrive on the landing, just barely picks up his whispered count of the room numbers, and waits for one more strike of the second hand, before taking a deep breath and rushing for the door. 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles knuckles have barely grazed the surface of the wood when it’s wrenched open. Derek is standing on the other side looking mildly crazed.

 

“Hi” it feels inadequate. 

 

“Hi” Derek blows it out like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

 

“How are-

 

“Why don't you-”

 

They both start at the same time, and then laugh. 

 

“You go.” Stiles cheeks feel hot with embarrassment, but his face splits into a natural grin. It just feels so good to finally be here, after months of texting back and forth, to finally have this conversation in person. Even if it is a bit of a disaster.

 

“Come in” 

 

Derek is smiling too, and he looks just as gorgeous as he did last time Stiles saw him. He’s wearing a v-neck and a sweater that Stiles highly doubts he chose himself, but somehow doesn't look unattractive, despite it’s patent grandpa origins. 

 

It makes him feel less bad about his awkward attempt to pull off the prep boy, shirt, tie and vest combo. Scott had told him it was a good idea and he’d been to anxious to argue at the time.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, personal training huh?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he says it, when Derek first told him he’d almost fallen off his chair laughing so hard, Derek hadn't texted to him for three days he’d teased him so much.

 

“Yeah. It’s only part time though…”

 

They’re sitting in the main living area, dinner plates abandoned on the table. 

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Mm, I’m post grad architecture.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I’m doing a part time internship with a small firm. It’s not too bad really, so many people complain about it, but I actually really like it. I mean, I don't get to design stuff yet, but I still get to learn about the process. Sure, a lot of the time I’m just pushing papers and fetching coffees, but sometimes I learn something useful, something that will take me further, you know?”

 

“Yeah” Stiles smiles a little wistfully. “It sounds pretty cool when you put it like that.” He had a long way to go before he could espouse the joys of an internship.

 

Theres a beat of silence in which he registers the way Derek’s toes just barely nudge his under the coffee table. 

 

“Oh, I almost forgot...” Derek holds up his hand, reaching for something by the side of his chair. He brings it back to his lap and Stiles realizes its a parcel, wrapped in vaguely garish Christmas paper. Derek holds it out to him “Seeing as I didn't get to give you anything for Christmas.” He smiles this cute, disarmingly honest, little smile.

 

“Oh!” Stiles takes the gift “You didn't have to...”

 

Derek just smiles again. “Open it before you thank me.”

 

“Okay…” he pulls the green ribbon and peels the sticky tape back from the side, siding the present from the wrapping like a tray from a box of matches. Glancing back to Derek who smiles encouragingly, eagerly even, if a little nervously.

 

He flips the box over and a grin creeps across his cheeks. “You didn't…”

 

“I did.”

 

“You’re ridiculous... You remembered?”

 

“I thought I should make my entirely clichéd, romantic intentions clear.” Derek needs to be more careful with that smile of his, if he keeps this up too long Stiles is gonna be a giant pool of goo on his couch. “It has been mentioned to me that I’m a bit… obtuse sometimes.”

 

“Oh my God, I love you.” Stiles promptly claps his hand over his mouth, he hadn't meant for that to come out.

 

Derek’s eyes are very round.

 

“Oh my god I'm so sorry, that was way too soon.” He cringes into the cushions, hoping they will magically engulf him and end his mortification. “I’m so sorry. I’ll- I’ll just go-” he gets up, trying to remember where he’s put his things.

 

“NO!” 

 

He freezes.

 

“I mean, um, please don't- I…” Derek takes a breath, Stiles tries not to stare at him too hopefully. “I just didn't expect- I feel the same. I know its soon, but-” He stands up, moving into Stiles space to grasp his hand. “I-I feel the same. You’re this wonderful, vibrant, intelligent person, and I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I really- I love you Stiles. You’re ridiculous, but I love you.” Derek grins and he’s so close it makes Stiles skin tingle.

 

“You love me...”

 

Derek smiles again, cute little bunny teeth catching his bottom lip. “Mmm, Thats what I said.”

 

“I- I love you too.” He knows he is repeating himself but he’s having a little trouble with his higher thinking this close to perfection.

 

“I know.” 

 

“You really-” 

 

Derek pulls him close and gently presses their lips together. 

 

“Yes.” He reaffirms when he leans pack, breath puffing over Stiles cheeks. “I really love you.”

 

 

“Good.” Stiles breathes, cupping Derek’s face and kissing him firmly.

 

He realizes he never wants to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [ Tumblr. ](%E2%80%9D)


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